


i'm a scholar and a gentleman

by kusemono (Glitchgoat)



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Crossdressing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, now with illustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-22 19:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitchgoat/pseuds/kusemono
Summary: Whether by design or by chance, though, it doesn’t matter, because either way, Yamato’s stuck in remarkably fewer pants and significantly more skirts and tall stockings than he’s accustomed to wearing— and worse still, stuck with Yuki inviting himself into his dressing room, taking a seat in one of the stray chairs like he belongs there.





	i'm a scholar and a gentleman

“What’s the problem? I think it suits you.”

“ _Please_ stop talking.”

Yuki’s gaze practically burns— or maybe that’s just Yamato’s skin heating up with an embarrassed flush. Either way, Yamato turns away from him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in an attempt to dispel some of that nervous energy, which is really a thoroughly pointless gesture.

“Why? Is it so wrong for me to say so when I find something cute?” Yuki says, placing a hand over where his heart would be if he had one, as though Yamato’s words have grievously wounded him.

“ _Yes,_ ” Yamato says back in an instant. It would be bad enough even _if_ he weren’t the object of remark. It’s already difficult enough having to deal with guesting on Re:vale’s variety show alone, and so having to deal with Yuki’s general harassment on-camera without the rest of IDOLiSH7 to back him up; it’s _worse_ when he deeply suspects that Yuki may have planned this. Whether by design or by chance, though, it doesn’t matter, because either way, Yamato’s stuck in remarkably fewer pants and significantly more skirts and tall stockings than he’s accustomed to wearing— and worse still, stuck with Yuki inviting himself into his dressing room, taking a seat in one of the stray chairs like he belongs there.

He could have _sworn_ he locked the door, but who knows if conventional locks even _work_ on Yuki.

“So cruel, Yamato-kun. Here I am, trying to pay you a compliment, and again you cruelly reject me.” He sounds more amused than wounded.

“If it’s such a compliment, and if it’s such a nice ensemble,” Yamato says in a drawl, “then you should have rigged the lot draws so you’d be the one wearing it instead.”

Yuki taps his chin. “No, I don’t think so. I’m more of a backless gown type. A skirt wouldn’t suit me half so well,” he says, sounding like he’s put genuine thought into in. Yamato is torn between indignation, increased embarrassment, and the myriad feelings that he’s _extremely_ not dealing with right now inspired by that set of mental images. Instead, he chooses to focus on the fact that Yuki did not even remotely deny the allegation of rigging the game that led to this.  
“Come here.” Yuki beckons and Yamato, despite his higher brain telling him to do literally anything else, crosses the couple of steps over to where Yuki is sitting, an eyebrow raised curiously.

He’s not sure what he expected, but Yuki’s fingers dragging along the bare bit of space between the top of his stockings and the bottom of his skirt should _probably_ have been near the head of the list.

And yet, presumably because he’s a fucking idiot, he doesn’t pull away.

Because he’s even more of an idiot, he doesn’t really resist when Yuki glances up at him, smiles in that serene way he does, and – when did his hand get from Yamato’s leg to the waistband of the skirt? Does it matter, when the result is that he slips just his fingertips under the waistband and tugs, and Yamato shifts forward just a little, as though dragged along?

“If it bothers you so much,” Yuki muses, “you could take it off.”

“You’re not subtle.”

“No, of course I’m not, Yamato-kun. I would hardly want to step on your territory of never saying what I mean.” Yuki’s tone is jovial, even though his words are characteristically tactless.

Yamato struggles to respond to that in a timely fashion, and by the time he begins to speak again, it gets crowded out by an involuntary noise of surprise as Yuki tugs him forward again. Yamato attempts to rebalance, but fails, and falls forward. Not particularly elegantly, mind you, and he’s more _half-hunched over Yuki and bracing himself on the back of the chair_ than truly in his lap, but it’s clearly within Yuki’s parameters of intended effect.

Obviously, because Yuki’s hands are back on his legs again. This time it’s both hands, brushing over the thin fabric of the stockings, hesitating just for a moment at the border between fabric and skin, then crossing that threshold; but this time his hands continue the journey upwards, pushing up the hem of the skirt, and Yamato—though he’d never admit it under pain of death – finds his breath hitching, just slightly.

Goddammit.

Yuki’s hands stop for a moment, and he raises an inquisitive eyebrow. Yamato glances away, unwilling to meet Yuki’s eyes as he feels his face heat up again. He’s not sure if he can _tell_ out of his peripheral vision that Yuki is smiling, or if he just instinctively _knows_ it’s happening.

It’s enough, and Yuki’s hands push up a little further, right until skin gives way to cloth once more as Yuki runs up against Yamato’s underwear.

“Hm. The boxers kind of ruin the effect, don’t you think, Yamato-kun?” Yuki remarks nonchalantly, even as he starts petting Yamato’s outer thigh through the thin fabric.

Yamato is about to tell Yuki to shut up again, but as he opens his mouth to do so, he is struck by a—well, not a _better_ idea.  
“Hey, if it bothers you so much, you could take them off.”

Yuki laughs, a gentle airy chuckle, and Yamato is torn between terrifically annoyed and—well. Yuki can figure out the other reaction for himself soon enough. Before he can kick himself for it (because, _really?_ ), Yuki’s hooked his fingers under the tops of his boxers. Yamato does not make any move to make the job of pulling them down any easier, but it’s not a difficult task.  
He’s struck by the very awkward position he’s in, supporting himself on the back of the chair, with his boxers inelegantly tugged down just far enough to free his dick but no further.

Yuki is thoroughly unconcerned with how awkward it may be for Yamato – as he ever is – as he slides one hand back up under Yamato’s skirt, along his now-bare thighs and around to his ass.

Yamato feels his face heat up again, but before he can argue, Yuki laughs gently again. While he’s laughing, he drags the other hand around and brushes his fingers against Yamato’s half-hard erection, and Yamato sighs, doesn’t quite _shudder_ but does find he’s not mad about it. He’s less mad when those same slim fingers wrap around him, warm and frustratingly delicate.

Goddammit.

Yuki’s fingers are light on him, and his touch almost maddening for it; every single time he comes close to providing enough stimulation he draws his hand away again, but the hand on his ass ever-so-gently guides him in movement, and he finds himself – despite himself – following the pace that Yuki sets.

Yamato’s grip tightens on the back of the chair and Yuki hums, glancing up at him.

“It’s really a shame that panties weren’t part of the outfit,” he remarks, unprompted, and Yamato really does not want to deal right now with the way his dick jumps in Yuki’s hand, and he _knows_ Yuki doesn’t miss it.

Yamato tries to come up with a witty retort but fails; all that comes out is a breath between gritted teeth. Yuki laughs that airy laugh again, and Yamato can’t help but interpret the tightening of his grip as some sort of reward.

That mental image that Yuki planted in his brain is not one he wants to deal with right now, or really, ever—even if he knows he’ll be revisiting it a few frustrated nights from now, and he knows that for certain because whether he wants to or not, it doesn’t take him much longer before he finds himself rocking into Yuki’s hand with a broken rhythm.

The thought that he probably shouldn’t come in this skirt hits him a moment before his climax does, but Yuki’s hand stroking him through it helps dispel any lingering thoughts he may have on the subject—or any thoughts at all.

He’s gripping the back of the chair with white knuckles, but Yuki is nonchalant as can be. He hums to himself, drawing his hand away from Yamato’s softening dick, and he glances at his messy hand before bringing it to his mouth. His tongue pokes out and swipes up his finger, and Yamato huffs another heavy breath.

At least it looks like most of the mess is on Yuki’s hand, though if the glance he casts down to the tent forming in the front of Yuki’s pants is any indication, there’s still time to change that.

Yamato sighs as, without being asked, he lets go of the chair and sinks to his knees.

“Panties would definitely make this stupid getup qualify as sexual harassment,” he says, attempting some levity as his half-numb fingers find their way to Yuki’s fly.

“And this doesn’t, Yamato-kun?”

You know what?

Fair enough.

**Author's Note:**

> illustration provided by [@rinkara](https://twitter.com/rinkara) @ twitter and embedded with permission
> 
> i realized i hadn't posted any i7 porn that wasn't hoshimegu all year, and since i'm about to post some truly trash fire-esque hoshimegu porn i wanted to make sure i hadn't lost you all  
> and since i'm a very democratic person, i ran a poll to determine what to write, and that poll said to write yukiyama.  
> glad to oblige.  
> also, an anon on cc asked for yukiyama + crossdressing while i was taking prompts for spicy flashfic vignettes a few days ago so congratulations whoever you were, your request got upgraded !
> 
> on twitter [@glitchgoats](https://twitter.com/glitchgoats) as always


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